Bittersweet
by evilmanray
Summary: Every time you look at me from now on, what will you see?" Even today, all he could see was what she had been at the end. The Confederate States of America, dying by his hand.


Alfred wasn't sure when he went from being called 'dad', to 'brother', to 'Alfred', and then to simply 'sir'. And awhile after that, any acknowledgement in his direction came to halt and completely stopped. The most he ever managed to get was possibly a wave, maybe a nod, occasionally that rude, one-fingered salute. That wasn't how a responsible woman acted. But South Carolina was unlike any woman Alfred had met. She was different from all the other states. She didn't blindly follow him. No, she opposed him.

Challenged his ideas.

Disagreed.

Turned other states against him.

Made him look like the evil, bad guy.

Started a war.

Alfred could see the signs that South Carolina was going to leave his family—the family he had obliviously thought was perfect and homely. She got taller, changed her style and the way she went about things. Alfred had thought maybe she was going through the rebellious stage, but it was so evidently more than that. She had gone from innocent, beautiful, honest South Carolina, to the ambitious, bloodthirsty, and ruthless Confederate States of America. She removed her presence from the house, leaving behind a sense of fear and betrayal.

First, she'd managed to snag Mississippi. Then, she went ahead and seduced Florida, promising him everything Alfred was never able to give him. Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas had then followed suit. Together with them, she'd attacked Fort Sumter. She persuaded Virginia to join her new country, and she'd used her Southern sweet-talk to convince Arkansas and Tennessee. And then North Carolina—cheery, sanguine North Carolina, who had always looked up to her big sister, followed in her footsteps. North Carolina was the last one to secede.

She was a Southern lady, with brown hair, brown eyes, and tan skin. She drew in everybody she met. Outsiders only saw her caring and nurturing façade. Alfred had raised her, and knew how to crack the mask and look deeper. He saw the way she was twisting and manipulating her brothers and sisters to do her dirty work. Though her smile appeared to shine like the hot sun, Alfred knew behind that smile was the predatory and cunning smirk that was barely holding back laughter. He knew that she laughed at him behind his back. Joked about him not being able to raise his own children the right way.

The hardest thing to admit was that she was right.

He hadn't been able to keep his hold on her.

"I'm not some stupid dog on your leash anymore, United States of America," South Carolina—no, the Confederate States of America, had barked in his face once, a chuckle lying underneath the words. Alfred could feel himself crumbling as she continued. "I'm my own person. I have a country. I am a _nation_. Whether or not other countries acknowledge me is their problem. And you tell me want to reunite the Union? Good. Fucking. Luck. You'll need it."

She was gone. The only way to bring her back was by force.

The Union was winning. Confederates were falling.

Alfred was killing his child.

What kind of hero was he?

"Do I remind you of anyone?" the Confederate States said, grabbing him by the shirt collar and pushing him against a wall. He didn't fight back. "I'm leaving someone dear to me. I'm rebelling. I have my own ideas. So you don't like slavery—fine. I do. That's not all this is about, though. I want freedom. Do you remember that point in time where you wanted freedom? You fought for it, and in the process, alienated someone you loved. So, tell me. Do I remind you of anyone? Possibly a younger you?"

"This is different!" he shouted back.

"How?!" she growled in his ear. "Go back in time. I'm you, and you are England. The situation is almost the same! You're all about freedom! I declare you a hypocrite! You're holding me back!"

"I'm not—"

"You _are_. You're just like that island nation. Someday, you'll fall down crying in the rain while I stand over you. I know you won't have it in you to kill me. You'll take mercy on me. It will be your ultimate downfall. But instead of doing like you did and leaving things there, with simple parting words, I'll be sure to kick you while you're down. Defeat is something I will not accept. Why don't you just _give up_?"

"I'm not giving up! Heroes don't give up!"

"Heroes know when to stop when things are going nowhere."

"You're wrong! I gave you a chance to come back! You brought this upon yourself."

"Oh, _I'm_ wrong? How did I bring this upon myself?! I'm different from you. Accept it."

"I will not."

He was resolute.

"Fine." She sneered and spit on his shoes. "Don't come crying to me when you're about to die. Damn Yank."

The war didn't go well at first, but soon, Alfred had prevailed. The Confederate States didn't let on that she was worried about how things were turning around. She still stood firm on the ground that she would be recognized and triumph.

_"I will trump you."_

She tore open a section of his heart that would never be mended. He could still remember the look on her face when he and his troops invaded Richmond. She didn't look like she cared. Instead, she encouraged him to keep going. She didn't plea for forgiveness.

"Shoot me! It's your turn to win!" she hollered.

"I can't!" Alfred shouted back.

"What did I tell you, hmm?!" That smirk was plastered on her face. "Just fucking like him! If you don't shoot, then I will!"

So he took a deep breath, and shot.

He was not England.

He couldn't be.

"Who's the real hero?" she coughed as she lay on the ground, covered with dirt and blood. "Heroes know when to stop when things are going nowhere. I'm a hero. You? You are a shameful excuse for one. What kind of hero takes away the freedom of others?! I was wrong! You shot! I admit my loss! But I still won in my heart! This isn't over!"

"No, it is."

She lost.

Alfred won.

Why was it so bittersweet?

"Just like I said," the once again state of the Union whispered menacingly, a coldhearted smile on her face and a searing hand on his shoulder. "We were just like that time back then, only different. In this case, you shot and won. It makes you wonder, doesn't it? If England had shot, would he have won? Would he have to deal with looking at you for the rest of his life? The person he held back from becoming an individual? It doesn't matter. All the matters right now is that you have to deal with me for the rest of your pitiful life. Things will never be as they were. Every time you look at me from now on, what will you see?"

Even today, all he could see was what she had been at the end.

The Confederate States of America, dying by his hand.

* * *

**A/N**: Probably the most angsty thing I have written/will ever write. I'm not an angsty person. I consider the Confederate states to be a self-insert of myself, just for fun!

Review! I know you all want to click that button at the bottom of this Author's Note. Go ahead. Indulge yourself.

Word Count: 1,187.


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